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mentions of The Taint (terminal illness), mentions of grief/death of a parent
It had been one thing to take a walk with Dane (which hadn’t really been a walk and more a ‘look for the mage bastard and Quentin’ sort of walk), and another to find the Estate just standing among a bunch of other houses, looking like it belonged there. She’d actually walked around it a few times, before she’d told Anders.
When she’d entered, she’d have taken the spiders, or the bandits because all she got was an oppressive quiet. Like it was holding it’s breath. There wasn’t Bodahn or Sandal talking to one another, or Orana fussing about. There wasn’t even the sound of the fires. Just, quiet.
Avoiding the real cause of that, she set to making a fire (at least in the main area, so the animals could lounge in front of it even if it was still stupidly warm outside) before taking stock. The cellar was empty, but she’d made the cache in the Emporium she could transfer, and after that she’d taken the sheets off the bed to wash it, and it reminded her she’d need to get the technology she’d grown so used to installed in the estate.
All things she did to avoid her mother’s door. She’d stood in front of it, after she’d taken the blankets, before walking away. Years later, and she still couldn’t face it. She’d have to, if she wanted to open the place, but in this case she was a coward. So once she’d taken the blankets and washed them, then set them to dry (at least the heat was good for that) she’d gone to her desk. The old letters were still there, some still waiting on replies. Invites to balls and social gatherings, mostly. She went through them, mostly as a distraction, before turning as the door opened.
One thing you could say about Night Vale with complete certainty (and Maker knew, there were few enough entries on that list) was that it was full of surprises. Good, bad, and confusing in more-or-less equal measure, though between the foreign princess who’d decided to make him her cause celebre and the sudden appearance of the Amell family estate today definitely fell firmly into the lattermost category. Entering in what Anders assumed was Hawke’s wake, it felt as if the building were holding its breath, and he caught himself reflexively doing the same, as if the silence were somehow a sacred and fragile thing, the sort of silence that clung to the rural chantry he half-remembered praying in as a small boy unaware what lay ahead.
The things Zelda had said - the possibility that dangled, however faint-seeming, at the edge of his vision - still played on his mind but he pushed that down, conjuring up a smile as he stepped into the room.
“So. Do you think this is Night Vale’s attempt to apologise for the latest round of nug shit?”
In truth, it was a good thing someone broke the silence, or she’d have let it hang. She smiled at Anders, grateful he’d said something. “Would’ve been nicer if it came with the stocked cellar, but aye, I’ll take this apology.” She’d left the place behind, fairly sure she’d never see it again. After Weisshaupt, she’d planned to settle wherever Anders would be, and would be glad never to see Kirkwall again.
“Weird though, innit?” She lowered the letters and glanced up towards the statues. “Vote now to melt those bastards down. No spiders though, or bandits. That’s something.” She paused then gave an almost laugh, holding one of the papers up. “Found one of your drafts.”
She glanced to him, half smiling, before tapping the desk. “We could open it, if you want. There’s enough room for everyone.” She didn’t quite want to discuss the implications of all that, but she wouldn’t make the decision alone. This was his home too. “How’d your thing go?”
“Counter-suggestion: we move everyone’s favourite Andraste statue in, give them something other than us to look at”
His tone was not entirely serious, his smile broadening slightly. It was… odd, the liminal space the Estate occupied, More home than Darktown or Kinloch had ever been, the key Hawke had given him still hanging like a talisman around his neck, and yet still not ever actually his, still Not Home enough he almost wanted to apologise for the traces she’d found of his occupancy. .
His smile wavered at her question, his shrug just a little too nonchalant, one hand straying to scratch the wrist of the other (the spot where, in the grip of Night Vale’s fear, he’d seen dark veins spreading beneath the skin). “It… went? Confirmed a few theories I had about this last week, at least, so that’s something”
“Don’t tempt me,” her tone was wry and amused because she would very much do that. If only out of sheer amusements' sake. “She’d go oddly well up there.” It would be terribly petty, too, and for that reason alone it was a suggestion, despite being a joke, she might just take up.
“Hm,” she glanced at him, and tilted her head. She knew him, and had a good guess when he wasn’t saying something, but she could also take a good stab at knowing when that was ‘I’m going to do something stupid’ and when it wasn’t.
And he did avoid the question of other occupants, too. “D’you want to talk about that, or opening the place to guests? You get a choice in the latter.” She set the letters down and turned, so she could look at him.
“It’s a big house? Not like we’re short on spare rooms. And the noise might be… nice. More normal, you know?” - and… that was about as far as he could go with that tangent, which meant sooner or later they’d have to talk about the other thing. Might as well rip the bandaid off now and have done with it. He sighed, gaze averted from hers (though it darted back occasionally, never for longer than a heartbeat or so before dipping away again), continuing to fidget; he always looked smaller without Justice in the driving seat, but right now he seemed especially retracted.
“I… alright, so. Working theory, everyone was seeing the thing that scares them, yes? Apparently whatever was causing it decided squads of Templars were a bit too on the nose.” Another shrug, and a brief pause to let her catch up, his teeth worrying at his lip in the silence, before he added. “I didn’t want to worry you, not when there was a chance it was Real and that bastard was Actually Here and slightly more pressing than… that. I should have said something, I know.”
Which did mean she’d have to face her own ghosts, but she could go over that later. “S’your house too,” she said that often, and would say it as often as it needed to be said but whatever else was going on it wasn’t that.
Especially because he wasn’t looking at her. That combined with what he was saying, and especially not saying, meant it didn’t take her more than a moment to put two and two together. She took a breath, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh for. Anders.” she loved him to death, but his way of lessening worry was not as effective as he’d thought it was, and it had caused plenty of arguments before. “What if it had been real? What if it’d been another false one?”
She lowered her hand, torn between wanting to hug him and being a bit angry. “This is more important. You can’t just decide not to worry me, not with this. It always takes precedence.” She sighed and stepped closer. Losing what she had left of her family was her true worst fear, but she could not blind herself to this. She would fight this if she could, but she also knew what she was fighting. “Don’t shut me out with this, Anders. I can’t come home, and you not be there because you decided to be noble about it. It’d kill me. I know you don’t want me to worry, but I do. I do it because I love you, even when you’re being a noble idiot about it.”
She frowned then, “Are you alright? Honestly.”
“I mean, I can.” A little of the old belligerence bled back into his tone, his shoulders sitting that bit squarer. Not as square as they could be, granted, because Justice wasn’t as entirely in Anders’ corner as he had been back then (and he’d unpack that with the Spirit later, probably) but square enough. “I just did. I-”
Pause. Exhale. He ran his fingers through his hair, tried to let affection soften those sharp edges. “I wasn’t shutting you out, Love. I was going to tell you before… before it got to that point. If it looked like it was getting near it. I just… I needed to know. If it was Real, if I needed to warn Neria, if this meant there was a Blight coming…” He took a half-step closer, reaching for one of her hands. “I wouldn’t just leave, and… even if I were tempted to, which I’m not, I don’t think Justice would let me.”
Her question gave him pause. He smiled, awkwardly, giving another half-shrug before answering. “I… yes. I think so? I know it’s not actually getting worse, that it was just this place getting in my head. I’m… We’re both alright.”
He would have left it there, happily even, but he could feel Justice bristling beneath his skin - it really wasn’t fair, having them both gang up on him like this - pushing the things unspoken forwards so they came out in a rush, more than a little of the Spirit’s timbre creeping in around the edges. “Zelda thinks we should be trying to cure it. She believes she can help.”
At his tone and the words, the old belligerent reminding her of how they could argue, even when they agreed about the substance of the argument, she gave him a look. “We’re in this together.” but he was trying at least. She knew why he didn’t want to make her worry, and it came from something of a good intention. But she knew his habit of thinking what was best.
“Right. Given there was a False one, I will give you that you wanted to double-check. Especially because I’m not convinced it wasn’t that giant spider bastard, and he has shown he can make all the signs appear. I’m not angry that you wanted to be sure.” She let him take one of her hands and met his eyes and smiled, “knew he liked me.” At least she had that assurance.
She nodded, glad to know it was at least the same as it had ever been. Still a time bomb, still something that one day even Justice wouldn’t be able to handle. But then Justice spoke up, giving voice to things she didn’t know possible. She raised her eyebrows. “Then I’d wonder why you’re not looking into that. If it’s a possibility, even the thought of it, it should be talked about. Neria should know about it too. And aye it’s selfish of me to want it because I don’t want either of you to die, so yes do that. Why would you not?”
His stance shifted - his back straightening, his thumb no longer tracing small circles on the back of her hand, his gaze fixed unnervingly steadily on her. “... are we not currently talking about it? We thought you should be included in the discussion. The Commander, also, naturally, but she is not here.”
“That’s not…” she trailed off because honestly she could see that argument going in a particular circle, all puns always intended, and really Justice was just terribly literal. That was part of him, “Alright, that’s a point there.” Besides the one where she felt like maybe this wasn’t a conversation Anders wanted to have right now, but gift horses and all that.
“Thank you, for including me. We’ll include Neria, she’s got a right for it too. Look, my stance is pretty easy. If you can find a way to get rid of this, get rid of it. We’re in a unique situation where we can ensure you’re not spending half your time making sure Anders doesn’t get any sicker, and you know I get a few more years with you both. I don’t see a bad side to it, except we owe someone a pretty hefty debt.” She shrugged to that, that was something she didn’t have a lot of issues with. “So I guess the only question there could be is why not?”
A brief pause; his eyes closed, head tilting a little, brow furrowing as if whatever was being said that only Justice could hear did not meet with the Spirit’s full approval. Then the moment passed, and he returned his unnaturally level gaze to her.
“Anders believes it is a cruelty to give you what might be False Hope; we do not yet know if it is possible, only that Zelda wishes it should be so. There is also the chance that” - his lip curled slightly, an almost-human-but-not-quite note of obvious distaste, his voice lifting in an artificial lightness that might have been deliberately mocking or simply an inexpert impersonation, but in either case sat just a little bit wrongly, as did the use of idiom at all. “poking the bear might make things worse.”
She sighed to the answer, even as she did her best to meet Justice’s gaze. She knew it was important, but mortal as she was, she had moments of looking to the side. “It’s not false hope, really. Look, if it can’t be done, it’s a matter of knowing it can’t be done. Aye, it’ll suck, but then it’s something off the list to try, and we can look into something else. Even if it’s always a no, the trying is still important. Maybe I can’t win this fight, but honestly, the both of you should know me well enough that doesn’t stop me. I’ll keep picking up whatever weapon I can.”
The idiom along with the tone of voice almost made her laugh. It was probably not great to laugh at the impersonation one partner did of the other, but honestly the entire situation was a bit complicated. In the end, she only gave out a light snort of amusement. “We’ve got incredibly clever mages here. There is no harm in doing research about it. Dive into how it might work and how it might affect things. I’m not saying, oh I don’t know jump into a cave and get eaten by that particular dragon, I’m just saying look into it. Even if the answer might be no. I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but I’ll be alright. All I want is for us to end up old and grey together, so I can keep annoying you both.” She added with half a smirk. “Oh, speaking of.” She raised her other hand, halting it a bit in front of him. “I want to thank you for the thought of staying, in case it was the worst case scenario. That good?”
“As you say. I will keep it at bay as long as I am able, this you well know, but it would be folly to ignore a potential cure. The Commander does not have the luxury we do.”
Another brow furrow as he attempted to discern what she was actually asking, followed by a curt nod. “Unnecessary, but not unwelcome. It would have been an injustice to vanish without an explanation.”
Justice was A Lot, she’d grant anyone that, but really it was in the getting to know him she saw the gentle edges too. “Alright, we’ll talk to her and then decide how we want to go forward.” Because he was right. Maker only knew how Neria was actually holding up, and even a bit of a stay could be beneficial.
She smiled to that and set her hand on his cheek, leaning up to kiss it just beneath the touch before settling down. “Love you too,” because he definitely could leave without saying anything, as he’d once upon a time argued with Anders to do. It meant a lot that now, he wouldn’t. He called it injustice, but she knew he cared. “And still, thanks. Even if it’s unnecessary.”
Mortals were, and would likely remain, Incredibly Frustratingly Confusing creatures, but time and familiarity (and, likely, more than a little of Anders’ influence) had rendered Hawke’s many foibles something nearer bemusing than irksome. For the most part, at least. She definitely still had her moments. Whether Justice could, or indeed would ever, term it Love? Uncertain. But the respect that passed between comrades in arms, certainly. He did not reach to cup her hand, as Anders might have, did not lean to press his forehead against hers, but he permitted it to remain, and perhaps that was concession enough.
Small-talk, likewise, he would never ever master; once an awkwardly long silence had passed between them he broke it, asking abruptly “If we must be honest, so must you: are you well?”
Even for her, it was enough. She understood Justice and understood he saw things differently. Which was alright with her. He stayed and let her love him, and it was plenty. After a moment, she dropped her hand, once she felt the message was clear enough.
And then he spoke again, and she gave a wry laugh. He’d always be blunt, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have her moments either. (and it said something, that he could tell she was avoiding things). “Not...really. I never intended to see this place again. And it’s full of ghosts.” and because they’d encountered those. “Metaphorical ones.” She glanced at the desk, “there’s letters here I never answered. I found my bloody diary, still on the page where I’d left off. And there’s Mother’s room,” she gave a sigh at the end. “I still can’t go in it. She’d not want it just sitting there. She’d want someone to use it and I know it’s empty because Bodahn and Orana cleared it all up, but I should still check. But if I do, she’s gone. Which she has been for years now.” She drew a shaky breath and ran her fingers through her hair. Years on, and the mention of it all still cracked her. She couldn’t understand why, when she’d gone through everything else and those memories never did this to her. “So not handling it great. I’m happy to have a place that’s ours, where we’re not dependent on whatever mood the town’s in and y’know deadly plants don’t try and eat us in our sleep, but it’s just. A Lot.”
He nodded; the arm that wrapped around her had an awkward stiffness that was entirely Justice, though the briefly averted gaze and long inhale before speaking suggested a little of Anders bleeding in around the edges as the gesture’s likely impetus, because they both had their strengths (and were getting substantially better at recognising it) and this very definitely lay in the human half’s wheelhouse.
“It is definitely A Lot... You do not have to go in there. We can, if you would prefer that, or it can stay until you are ready. If that is Never, so be it.”
The offer meant a lot more than either of them might know. She didn’t want to put everything on him, but in this case it wasn’t so much that as sharing something. And perhaps it was a bit cowardly to not face this particular ghost, but the very thought of it made her want to go face Corypheus (again) and this time without her armor. That seemed less dangerous. Or less daunting.
“If you could. Just needs a going over, and some blankets. I appreciate the offer of leaving it but,” she gave a shrug, “there’s the kid. This place might make him more comfortable, given his whole technology bad thing he’s got going on. Or you know we get the others here, we’ll need the room. And she’d want it used.”
She glanced back at him, “Anders is being vague about this and I don’t know why, but you get an opinion too. Do you want people here? I should ask before I make all these decisions. We can lock things off, like the cellar, but if you’d rather not share with more people I can understand that.”
Another nod, and a very slight squeeze (as if both conscious of his own unnatural strength, and unsure exactly what purpose the squeeze served beyond ‘this is what mortals do to other sadder mortals’ and therefore not appreciating that it should last longer). “Of course.”
Her question merited a brief moment of consideration, before he answered. “Presumably these People would need to be aware of our unique situation. We would not wish to alarm them, nor to have to Go Away while they were present. Beyond that, we have no objection.” A beat. “Anders is re-adjusting to the prospect we might live beyond the next month. He does not mean to be so obtuse.”
He was trying, and really that was the important thing. She appreciated that much, and the contact alone was plenty. “If either of you see anything you think might’ve belonged to her, clothes or what not, just put them out. I can deal with that weirdly enough. Maker knows where my head’s at.”
“That’s reasonable, s’your home so if you wanna walk around you can. We’ll explain things, that’s not a problem.” She wanted him to be comfortable. “You might have to tell them when you’re about. Took me a bit to pick it out, so it might take a bit of ‘no, it’s Justice right now’. Us frail mortals and all,” she added with a bit of levity to her tone. “Oh I know. Well he knows he’s got as much of a say so if he wants something locked off, same with you, we can do that. I’m going to lock our room, mostly because the whole people getting in my dairy got a little old, and I’ll spring for a bigger bed. Dane’s learned to share, but I don’t think either Urthemieow or Chauncy did. And we’ll need people over because I’ve gotten very used to things like immediately heated baths, and cool air. And like the locked portions if you wanna add something we can. We haven’t had to pay for anything but food, so we can spruce the place up.”
“Of course. We will endeavour to be patient, as we trust will said Frail-Mortals-And-All”. Again, the attempt at levity sat more-than-a-little awkwardly, and the silence that followed lingered just a little too long. Still, points for effort. Time was, Justice would not have made even this token effort.
“That would be” - a beat - “pleasant. We have also become used to the conveniences; it would be a shame to forgo them.”
Gently, she patted his arm. He was trying, and getting better at it, even if the process was probably odd to many. She knew change was odd for a spirit, though. “Don’t worry, I’m ridiculously good at interpersonal relationships.” Her greatest accomplishment (also to her way of thinking her greatest failure because she should have let people kill him) was Sebastian had lived through Kirkwall. “I’ll work out any tangles that might arise.”
Her smile grew at his admission. A far cry from ‘any luxury might lead to sloth’ and she was glad for it. “It really would. I’ll cry a lot if I’m back to cold baths, no one wants that.” She was joking, even if her preference was the conveniences. “Right, so make a list of what you want. I’ll sort it. D’you want to come with me to the Emporium? I want to transfer the cache from there to the cellar, and then I want to see where the door leads. We’re not up anymore, so it might just be blocked. If it is, we’ll have to clear it and get a route going. If it’s not blocked, we’ll still need to figure out where it goes, and what's nearby.”
He nodded, curtly, then paused, considering.
“Would you prefer the company there, or for us to handle things here in your absence?”
“In all honesty, we can leave all that,” she gave a motion to her mother’s room, “till later.” which was a bit of a cop out, but she wouldn’t deny that. She’d found a workaround, but she still preferred delaying. “Besides, more hands to carry shit means it’s done easier. And out of sheer selfish desire, I can try and get you both to eat something.” The eternal goal, really. “So short list of invitee’s. Varric, Neria, the kid, maybe Dorian? Anyone you’d like on there?”
He huffed out a breath at her chiding - not quite a full grumble, but audible nonetheless, the sort of sigh that ought to have accompanied an eye roll, though of course the Spirit did nothing quite so human. It had been explained to him on numerous occasions that a living host required sustenance and rest, he understood the theory well enough… the practice, however, was another thing entirely, so used was he to simply stifling any unpleasantly distracting stimulus that threatened to leech away his control. Combined with Anders’ all-too-human tendency to become absorbed in his latest passion and really, the two of them were something of a disaster, and without Hawke’s not-so-gentle reminders would likely have worn themselves even more ragged.
Her question gave him slight pause, and he considered. “... Caleb, perhaps, though he would likely prefer his solitude. Anders would no doubt wish for A Proper Cat. Beyond that, no.”
“Don’t give me that,” her smile belied the comment, however, as this was an old argument. And one she’d have for a long time still, given both their tendencies. “Food, shockingly, good. One day I’m going to find something you’re going to like, and then you’ll understand my point of view.” One of the many advantages of this place, there were plenty of things to throw at that particular obstacle.
“Extend the offer then,” Caleb seemed more their friend than hers, and it might be odd for it to come from her as she also employed him. “We’ll look into a Proper Cat. Although, Urthemieow is still best Not A Cat.” And eternal proof how odd the place was.
“We remain unconvinced.” An old argument, indeed (and somehow oddly cherished for that, the predictable rhythm of it as close to the neverending now of the Fade as he’d been able to find this side of the Veil. Familiar, too, the odd melancholy at considering it more likely she one day wouldn’t be around to try than that she’d succeed.).
He nodded, more at the first statement than the second (lacking a frame of reference by which to fairly judge Not A Cats). “Should an opportunity present itself, we shall raise the topic.”